


Unbroken Things

by assistedtouch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Addiction, Adult Hermione Granger, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety, Astrology, Auror Draco Malfoy, Bad Ron Weasley, Blow Jobs, Cho Chang Best Friend, Cunnilingus, Depression, Divorced Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Pregnancy Kink, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Healing, Healing Sex, Herbology, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Light Angst, Minor Cho Chang/Cedric Diggory, Multiple Orgasms, Older Draco Malfoy, Older Hermione Granger, Painkillers, Past Abuse, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Porn with Feelings, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Pregnancy Kink, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Redemption, Romantic Friendship, Romantic Soulmates, Simultaneous Orgasm, Slow Burn, Smut, Vaginal Sex, trying to be mature
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assistedtouch/pseuds/assistedtouch
Summary: It's been over a decade since the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione has been divorced from Ron for nearly four years. Since then she's made a quiet life for herself in London, making best friends with Cho Chang.Draco, who in his loneliness and guilt, became addicted to alcohol and drugs, notably painkillers. His good friend Theo has been helping him through working for the Ministry. Draco longs for forgiveness and healing, especially of the painful memories he has of one Hermione Granger who was tortured in his home by his Aunt.They haven't spoken since then, but a new phase is on the horizon for both of their lives.
Relationships: Cho Chang & Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	1. Our Heroine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Onyx_and_Elm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onyx_and_Elm/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Breath Mints / Battle Scars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15370968) by [Onyx_and_Elm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onyx_and_Elm/pseuds/Onyx_and_Elm). 



_**~ Chapter 1: Our Heroine ~** _

Our heroine watched the class of college students shuffle out of the seminar room, their voices echoing off the cold stone floor as the setting sun's warm glow shone through the large windows along the western wall. She sighed deeply, exhaling away the tension of the day as she completed her last lecture before the weekend. It had been a stimulating discussion with eager students, thirsty for knowledge on the art and science of ancient astronomical astrology.

The Ministry had established the College to aid in developing magical abilities in persons who had not been able to participate in a wizarding education, through parental neglect or prejudice, or for those who had simply bloomed later. The muggle world presumed it was another new age institute and nothing more. 

As the last student cleared the room, she collapsed into the antique wooden chair, collecting her thoughts before making her way through the city toward home. Kicking her feet up onto the small wooden desk, she leaned back and stared into the soft yellow glow and sighed, a tendril of thick curly hair dangling by her ear. The sunlight reached across the room to her desk, touching the thirsty little plant that adorned the otherwise bare plain wooden furniture, save for the messy pile of essays and handouts sitting on the corner.

 _Eating. That's next._ She thought to herself. _Eat, sleep, work, eat sleep work, eat sleep workeatsleep…_

The thoughts circulated around and around, becoming a giant tumbleweed of apathetic _blah_. The weeks and months had blended together over the nearly four years since she left Ron. It had been the hardest thing she could have imagined, after their many years together. Years of increasing antagonism, neglect, and resentment, which grew into terrible fights filled with name-calling, manipulation, and things she chose to forget. When counselling and emotional appeals hadn't stopped the heavy oppression of emotional abuse and the endless blame she received for his perceived failures in life and career, she found herself dissociating, watching herself from above as she packed her bags and drove away, Ron saying nothing anymore, not even able or willing to stop her.

The first year was hard, she found a flat she could afford in Bethnal Green and dove completely into her work at the College. Her friendship with Cho Chang blossomed and she would cite that as a reason why she was able to eventually feel happy in being single again. Even though Cho was married, her vivacious energy was a powerful remedy for the decade of misery with Ron. Her life had become happy, stable, or at least content.

There had been a few dates over that time, but nothing that lasted very long; they inevitably showed red flags that she promised herself she would immediately halt. So she stopped seeing them, and rightly so, as their responses to being let go were anything but kind, and by declining to date them anymore they revealed themselves to be anything but the kind and patient gentlemen they had claimed to be.

Her career had been steady, her position in the Ministry-established College for the Magically Inclined had become her source of reprieve, where she could pour herself into her passion for studying the stars and their patterns on human nature, together with helping and educating Muggles who showed promising signs of magical abilities. And in between classes she would manage her line of herbal tinctures and balms that was starting to become popular in boutique shops in the city. 

The great battle at Hogwarts ended nearly twelve years ago, and she could still smell the smoke in the air and hear the screams ringing in her ears as lives were taken and scars were mercilessly given. Memory, it seems, becomes your closest company.

Age had been good to her though. As she grew older she started to understand herself more, and became stronger in being able to provide herself with her needs. She understood boundaries and had long since accepted that she did the right thing by leaving what was a horribly unhappy relationship with Ron. They had been children after all, and she learned that there was much more to a relationship than was alluded to in fairy tales. He had good parents, but her upbringing was so different to Ron’s, and she rarely felt on the same page with their life paths. Yet she had felt a terrible guilt about entertaining the thought that the dream pairing wasn’t quite so dreamy after all, and stayed in it so long due to a general feeling of obligation. To whom, she couldn’t say. Her maturity enabled her to tap into a strength she had long forgotten after years of being made to believe that she was nothing more than an annoying burden.

She loved her closest friend Cho, and was grateful for their close connection whose bond she cherished. They would meet a few times a month after work for a drink at _The Hare,_ a pub in Bethnal Green that was close enough to both of their homes and offices. Once a month at least they would have dinner at each other’s house, and she enjoyed it best when Cho’s muggle husband, August Harrington, was there. It felt normal and good.

She hadn’t really been lonely, but she noticed that there were increasingly days that she longed for company, discussion, and shared laughter. Still, she knew she was content in the enjoyment of her independence and freedom to control her schedule and to not report to anyone. These languid Friday afternoons enjoying the sunset felt spacious, entirely for her.

Her mind meandered. She thought back to the astrological indications she’d been watching in her chart for the last year, seeing it approaching these past months until it was finally upon her this week. A significant period of major change had been cosmically "scheduled" for anytime now, and so she knew that these feelings she'd been having, of longing and a sense of love, were astronomically on time, so to speak. She’d been studying its inevitable arrival, these love sentiments she could feel in her body and in her daydreams. She just couldn’t understand where the feelings should be directed to.

She sighed and stretched her arms overhead, taking the hairpin out of her bun so her long wavy brunette hair cascaded down her shoulders and back. Her scalp felt better with the pin removed, and she massaged her head for a few moments to bring back circulation. She wore her typical outfit, a fitted tweed blazer with a low-cut white t-shirt and matching knee-length skirt, her favourite style from the 40’s with a contemporary edge that she felt comfortably empowered in. She was starting to feel more and more at ease with her strength as a sexual woman, and didn’t feel shame anymore in showing off her embodied self-love in a way that was for her, and no one else. After those years in the dark of Ron’s oppressive nagging, this new period felt like a rebirth.

The grumble in her stomach let her know she had been reminiscing about life in the warmth of the sunlight for too long, and it was finally time to confront the time of day she hated the most: preparing dinner. She rubbed her hands together to help herself get energized for the walk home before locking the papers away in the desk drawer. They didn’t need to be marked this weekend, and she didn’t feel like carrying them home. If need be, and she had time and energy, then she’d come back into the office with her stronger briefcase. Knowing she had to shop for dinner ingredients, she knew she wouldn’t have a spare hand for it all. She emptied her cup of water into the plant’s soil, threw her sleek thin briefcase over one shoulder with the attached strap, then walked across the room and closed the door behind her, her low heels click-clacking along the way.

“Goodnight Professor Granger,” shouted Prof. Susan Bones from her classroom office across the hallway.

“Goodnight Susan,” Hermione responded. “Any plans for the weekend?”

Hermione hated this question but asked anyway, playing the socially responsible role of dutiful chit chat. They had developed a pleasant workplace friendship over the years based on their shared childhood experiences at Hogwarts, Susan placed in Hufflepuff the same year Hermione was drafted into Gryffindor.

“Oh nothing all that exciting. Just a bit of gardening, laundry, you know how it is!”

Hermione gave a polite agreement and a laugh as she wished her well, and carried on down the stone hall. The College for the Magically Inclined was a beautiful old four-storey stone and brick building in South Kensington. It sat across from the Royal College of Music, a conservatory for muggle students who were magically inclined in their own artistic sort of way. She loved the neighbourhood, these old buildings, the little parks dotted every other block, and the immense cultural mixture of people walking the streets.

She trotted down the stairs, thoughts now debating between spaghetti or a roasted chicken. The yellow sunlight had now become a pinkish-purple colour mirroring her own feelings of sweet playful lovingness, and the street lamps had just turned on. She took in a deep breath of appreciation for the beauty of the twilight hour and smiled into her freedom.

*. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *. *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicated/gifted this work to Onyx, whose story "Breath Mints / Battle Scars" changed my life. 
> 
> Note that this story has nothing to do with BM/BS, but I simply wish to acknowledge how much that story meant to me.
> 
> This is my first fic, please be kind! I tried to add all tags I could think of but if there's some that you needed just let me know, thank you for reading.


	2. The Anti-Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where we meet one 30-something Draco Malfoy, and learn about his troubles and experiences since Hogwarts.

_2: The Antihero_

Draco had come out of the war ruined, traumatized, abused and abandoned. The “community” who had been his family were nothing more than selfish, power-hungry murderers, filled with hatred and little else. Though his parents were saved from serving extensive time at Azkaban because of his mother Narcissa’s betrayal of Voldemort, he had separated himself from them and from his lineage.

His childhood had been hijacked by power, and his adolescence hijacked by hatred. All of his life, his own beliefs, opinions, needs and desires, had been swept aside for the greater requirements of his parents. He had little real idea of who he was beyond their opinions. Their desires for power and prestige were second to the fear they had experienced their entire lives: fear at first of betraying their family lineages and the narratives passed down unto them; and fear secondly of the consequences of not falling in line to the Dark Lord, whose return they had after all helped ensure.

A deep rage had erupted within him since the war, against his family and their circles. An equally significant amount of shame presented itself, and he carried these heavy burdens for several long years, perhaps even still. Amidst all of the innumerous reasons he had to be ashamed of his family’s role in the wrong side of history, of greatest shame was the witnessing of his Aunt Bellatrix assaulting his classmate Hermione Granger. In moments of sincere honesty with himself, he knew that this was the moment of his unforgivable role in it all.

He had believed for many years that he hated the girl for her blood line, but as he became embroiled deeper into the inner workings of Voldemort’s world, he sensed that none of it was right, that it had never been right, and that truly his blood was no different than hers. When he dreamed at night, it was often a reenactment of that night that Bellatrix carved her hateful wound into Hermione’s arm. In dreams, he tried to yell a spell at his aunt, to lunge towards her, to do anything, but it was as if a hurricane force wind was pushing against him, and he couldn’t hear his own voice. Each time, he saw Hermione’s face, anguished, terrified, and he woke up in a sweat, swallowing the guilty memory down with half a bottle of firewhisky.

After the war he had broken off his intended marriage with Astoria Greengrass, though they did write to each other from time to time. She was one of the few people of his age who seemed willing to communicate with him — he was shunned by Voldemort’s sympathizers and by the alliance as well, though he was happy to shun the dark mark supporters right back.

He had initially felt that Astoria was able to understand some of the feelings he had been working through about his upbringing. Years of being brainwashed and manipulated certainly took their toll. But she wasn’t able to understand it all, and she kept a loyal connection to the pureblood mentality that he just couldn’t understand. Eventually their writings became less frequent, until it stopped altogether.

He had long since moved out of the Malfoy Mansion and into his own flat in one of the most expensive parts of London, near the College for the Magically Inclined in Knightsbridge. Despite separating himself from the affiliation with pure bloods and the Dark Lord, he took his enormous inheritance from his parents and bought one of the largest, most ornate apartments in London, stocked with antique gold harpsichords and finery befitting a luxuriating Prince of Slytherin and Basically Exorbitantly Wealthy Man.

The first few years since the war were spent in a hollow depression of alcohol and pain killers, seemingly blissful reprieves from the living nightmare of waking life. The downward spiral of his path wound its way toward reckless debauchery, with much of his 20s lost in the ether of drugs in an effort to detach himself from the weight of the past. His large swaths of financial privilege afforded him anything he desired, silk suits, women, voyages, studies, additional training from private tutors to advance his sorcery skills and his ability to live in a muggle society.

Published under a terribly unoriginal pseudonym, Malady Darkroom, his book _On Broken Things_ became an underground classic and he had become a cult figure in academic and pseudo-academic circles who found thrills in discussing morose and gloomy things. The wizarding world also took note of his bare and honest portrayal of his experiences as a child and young adult among evil and manipulative power-hungry adults. He was less honest with his memory of Hermione, omitting her from the book, though was fully transparent of his debauchery and tales of grief. Yet all of the fame and fortune could not bring what he sought after most — a sense of forgiveness for the burdens of guilt.

He had grown used to waking up nearly lifeless after a week-long bender of pills and hard muggle liquor, wrecking his body as much as he felt it was deserved. There was nobody around, nobody to reach out to, nobody to check on him. Hated. Despised. Loathed. He was sure this is what people felt toward him, and he forced that onto himself. Sensing a fatigue at the self-loathing that drew him to routinely wreck his body, he eventually did reach out to his old school friend Theodore Nott, academic rival and closest mate. It became a good friendship again, and they were both able to speak with each other about the damages they inflicted and received, physically and emotionally.

At Theo’s suggestion, Draco started seeing a muggle therapist, an older man named Edward who he found was able to provide the caring mirroring that his own father did not. It was a long road, and Draco saw Edward every other week for nearly four years. Together they undid much of the messaging Draco had received throughout his life — though our young hero did have to dance around the magical truths. He used metaphors that Edward thought were signs of a brilliantly creative mind, and that they were, though they were also simply stand-ins for the truths that the elder therapist would never believe.

Theo had starting working in the Ministry after the war. It had initially been a rehabilitation requirement for his association with the Dark Lord, but it eventually turned into a job. A few weeks after starting therapy, Draco met Theo at _The Swan_ , an upscale tavern across from Hyde Park. It sat directly in front of the Lancaster Gate tube stop, a mere 20-minute walk from his posh flat on Exhibition Road by the College for the Magically Inclined.

“I’ve got a job for you,” Theo Nott said to his silvery haired friend.

“Pff…. I don’t work,” Draco scoffed.

“Yes very good, how’s that working for you?”

“Seems to suit me alright,” Malfoy raised his eyebrows nonchalantly.

“Well you’ve been doing nothing for too long, you’ve said so yourself a couple weeks ago that maybe doing something everyday would help get you out of this long period of, whatever it is, doom, drugs, all of that.”

He had to admit, he had thought it would be beneficial for him, as a way of helping himself out of his own stupor.

“Yes I know,” he admitted.

“Great, the Ministry has asked me to give you this proposition directly, so hear me out,” Theo said. “They’ve been receiving reports increasingly over the last year of small cells popping up around the country, teenagers mostly, who are showing sympathy towards the Dark Lord.”

Malfoy wasn't surprised, when you’re at the front line you see the horrors of the reality of betrayal and power, but when you’re far from it is easier to glorify and romanticize.

“And?”

“And they’d like you to become a Ministry associate and infiltrate these cells. Work with us to ensure that Voldemort’s sympathizers are stopped from terrorism, or… worse.”

“What’s worse?”

“Well, I suppose, to make sure that he doesn’t come to power again.”

Draco hesitated. “But that’s not possible.”

“Well that’s what we hope, but we’d like your help to make sure.”

“Why me?”

“You have talent, skill, you’re intelligent, you have real knowledge of the inner workings of the hierarchies and mentalities of these kinds of groups.” Theo paused before continuing. “I personally vouched for you, because I think it would be really good mate, for you I mean, but also for all of us, everyone. You’ve been sitting on your arse for years, bathing in all the money you can desire, inebriated out of your skull three quarters of the time…”

At that, Draco’s refilled pint made its way to the bar and he thanked the server. “Yes, very good Theo, very caring old boy, thanks.” He was sincere but played with a teasing sort of incredulity in the offer set before him. “You see, you haven’t seemed to piece together that I’m an outcast by every count: allies, enemies, nobody welcomes me.”

“Well, be that as it may, you can hardly say that it wasn’t _you_ who actively shunned the world and turned everyone away, can you?”

Theo had a point, and it took Draco aback slightly. His view of the world had been one way, and Theo helped him realize it might also be a different way. He considered his life as it was, the repetitive days and nights of burning the painful memories of guilt and shame away through drugs and drink and sex. He knew what he had to do. He wasn’t getting rid of it all, but he was simply introducing a new and healthy element into his life. After all, his therapist Edward did keep hampering on about the benefit of service and serving others as a tool to manage these heavy burdens on himself.

He sighed and swallowed half of his lager down with ease. “Right.” He ran his hand through his silvery messy hair, his expensive satin black jacket haphazardly open, displaying his fine wool black turtleneck. His appearance always commanded attention.

“Right,” confirmed Theo. “Well then come by the Ministry Monday morning, 8am, I’ll go over it all with you there and get you started.”

Thus Draco Malfoy, anti-hero, started on his path towards service-oriented work in his pursuit of righting the wrongs of his life to that point, even though the wrongs may not have been his own, but rather those enforced onto him by his parents and associated families under the powerful reign of Voldemort.

Still, the years of his haunting memories of seeing his schoolmate Hermione writhing on the floor as his Aunt tortured her continued, as did his generalized microdosing of painkillers.

He continued to meet Theo regularly at _The Swan,_ keeping him up to date on news of the groups that he intercepted here and throughout the country. Small groups of conspiracy theories had been reported through conscientious neighbours and do-gooders, though most of them turned out to be about aliens and government reptiles. His opinions of humanity seemed to be on the decline, though he felt still compelled to continue to support the Ministry, and his friend Theo, through his attempts to ensure the safety of the wizarding and muggle worlds.

After several years, the Ministry told him that he would be considered for the position of Auror if he were to complete particular qualifications, which he easily agreed to and surpassed with flying colours. He was a capable wandsman, and his strong physique enabled him to be a formidable physical opponent to any riffraff that appeared. And there was riffraff, though rarely magical; mostly drunkards and belligerents. He was happy that in his years supporting the Ministry, he had not encountered any significant threat to the world.

As usual, he met Theo for a few pints on this Friday afternoon. They had good laughs about the old days, sharing any gossip they’d heard, and spoke seriously about any inner happenings in the government and the Ministry. After a few hours, they said their goodbyes, and Draco wandered out into the pink sunset, slightly inebriated.

The sun had turned a darker shade of pink when he stumbled out of _The Swan_ and said goodbye to his friend. A slight chill was in the air, winter on the horizon within the next month. He crossed the street, past the tube station and into Hyde Park, a sprawling garden in the heart of the city. Taxi cabs honked, buses passed by, people chatted, and musicians played their instruments for change.

His soft buzz of the alcohol numbed his generalized pains that his traumatic memories had seemingly permanently etched into his body, and he felt in love with the sweetness of the evening light. He took a deep breath of appreciation for the scent in the air, the shade of violets and pinks in the sky, the beauty of the world around him, and knew that this was a very special evening.


	3. Venus Arrives

As she walked along the wide and busy path through the garden, Hermione’s mind floated into a daydream. The pink sky, the skilled musicians on the lawn, tall canopy of old growth trees overhead… even though she walked through this path every day, twice a day, now and then she really took it in and became enchanted with its charms. She had been feeling a longing for connection again, and even though she didn’t want to act on it for fear of losing her safe autonomous solitude, she did allow herself to drift into the sweet reverie of what it would be like to be with a lover, a soul connection, a divine partner walking next to her.

Devoted teacher and student of Astronomical Divinity, she had been aware that this blossoming period of time was an opening of the universe to a new and long chapter of abundance in her life. She could barely even imagine what her analysis was suggesting about the upcoming changes in her life, a veritable sea-change of love, beauty, joy, balance, even marriage and family if she wanted — an idea she had long dismissed from her mind after failed attempts with Ron to have a family together. She wasn't sure if she did want any of that now. In retrospect it was a blessing that they could have divorced cleanly, and she didn’t have to think about exposing little ones to the darkness that had overtaken their relationship.

Noticing the pinks and lavenders of the twilight sky, she smiled softly at witnessing the unfolding of the universal plan for her before her eyes. The sweetness of the coming period of change was very much before her: the evident pleasure she already had within her at her life, her freedom, her appreciation of the beauty around her. She knew definitively that she had entered this uplifting and joyful long chapter of her life a few days prior, when the world looked more beautiful, the light more stunning, people more pleasant, her skin more radiant, slumber that much deeper. It was upon her.

And perhaps that’s all it would be, these nice little blessings of beauty in the world. But her body, her lips, her hips, all of her senses, all of her body felt a pull toward a deeper expression of this beauty and appreciation through union with another being, another body, another soul. She longed for love, and a sensual connection with another, though deep down there was still a resistance based on trust and the effects of her previous relationship on her self esteem. She felt hesitant, yet nonetheless was acutely aware of the blissfulness around her and within her. Yes, the hesitancy and fear would be there, but she was looking forward to the future as it was here now before her, not knowing what form this new period of love and leisure would take.

She envisioned meeting someone and how they would be with her, how they would put their arm around her on her waist, walking in time shoulder to shoulder, looking down on her with love and warmth. The sweetness of the daydream made her heart swell. But she could never make out their face, their physique, or anything about them. They were a blur, a mirage, and yet she could imagine the quality of his voice, the spirit behind those inconceivable eyes.

Several months ago, she had talked about this to her students, about the possibility — but improbability — of a soul love. They discussed the size and breadth of the cosmos, the circular patterns of life and death and rebirth, the interchanging timelines of an incarnation, and the incredible odds of finding a soul match not only in this lifetime but at the same age in the lifetime.

The students groaned at the idea of managing to be born in the same lifetime of a suitable soul match when they were in their 80s and you an infant. “You see, altogether the theory is not impossible, but very improbable, and also, I’m not entirely sure of what the purpose of the theory is other than to entertain some kind of co-dependency with another person, so take what you will from its proponents in the texts.”

“Professor,” a student asked that day they were having this discussion. Sally, an upbeat student in her late 20s, seemed particularly taken by the discussion.

“Yes, Sally,” Hermione replied.

“So what about, like, almost-soul-matches? What about people who are just really good matches but like maybe their souls aren’t like, you know, perfect or whatever?”

“Good question. A soul _can’t_ be imperfect. So it’s not a question of that, but more of whether someone is suitable for someone else. But this begs the question of who we are at all. What remains of us when we die? When this lifetime is done and another begins, what is left over? Are you still Sally, a blonde girl? Or are you… a tree? And if you’re a tree, is there a mirror of you out there, a perfect tree? Or is the so-called perfect-soul-match perhaps a caring gardener, a political activist who aims to protect you from being cut down for paper?”

The room fell silent. “What is the difference,” she continued, “between one soul and another? Can they ever be conjoined anyway, or aren’t we all fated to be separate and distinct from each other? What’s the purpose anyway of meeting a so-called soul-match, if the two souls are forever separated just from the fact that one is Sally and one is, I don’t know…”

“Neil,” Sally replied, blushing.

“Yes, ok then, Neil.” Hermione smiled at her blushing student and the class murmured its happy suspicions at Sally’s personal life. “So if Sally and Neil, these two formless souls, two atoms of light, if they take form in the material world and become human beings called Sally and Neil, and they meet, and they fall in love and have a great life together and then die, I mean, what’s the point of a soul match at all?”

The classroom stared at her in gloomy shock, clearly waiting for more. She realized the essence of her point wasn’t quite coming across to the students, and had the sudden thought that perhaps this _was_ her point — the futility of it all. Flashes of Ron shouting at her in their old darkened home shot by her vision and she had to take a breath to compose herself.

“What I mean is, what is the purpose of the discussion about soul-matches? Are we not the same as them anyway? Two perfect atoms of light, two beings, separated yet can never conjoin lest they _lose_ the very thing that makes one Sally and the other Neil. If they become one, they are no longer them. In psychology you might hear your Professors talk about enmeshment and I suppose that’s what I’m getting at here. You have two beings and let’s say they are somehow the perfect match for the other in temperament and on a cosmic level. They have a lifetime together, and it is a good lifetime, the best lifetime. It’s filled with happiness, and maybe they have children and their perfect genes are passed down into new lineages of other people, and maybe those children and their children have happier lives than other people simply because their great-great-great-grandparents, Sally and Neil, soulmates, met and fell in love.”

The class still waited, a few hands in the air, which she ignored for now.

“But Sally and Neil could never be one. On a vast enough timeline, like, before the Universe as we know it, sure, they are one. But in our present, very mortal timeline, our very dualistic timeline, they are not one, they are two: Sally, and Neil, here in the UK, on planet Earth. At least physically if not mentally.” The class gave a soft chuckle. “So if you were to meet your soul-match, if that were possible, and whatever requirements that definition entails, what would you do differently with your life than if you were to meet with someone who simply was a very practical match who you met at the bar or on a dating site? Because you’re not going to mysteriously conjoin with them, all that’s going to happen is that you’re still going to be Sally and you’re still going to be interacting with a person, whether they’re Neil or…” Hermione looked around the room and named a student at random. “…or Stacey. Just two people interacting. But, presumably, the interactions will be much easier and more harmonious than any other.”

“So, Professor,” Sally hesitated. “Are you saying that, like, there’s no point to anything?” A couple of agreements came from the small room of suddenly anxious pupils.

“No Sally, I’m saying that whether you meet a soul match in this life, the next, or never, you’re still met with other souls and you have a responsibility here in this lifetime to not be a shit to them.”

She half-smiled, knowing that the bleak ‘lesson’ was a deeply personal and opinionated one. There was still anger in her, she could feel it burning and its face was Ron’s. The class was fairly silent then.

“Which is tied into ethics and hopefully Professor Goldstein can touch on that one day if he hasn’t already.” Anthony Goldstein had been a Ravenclaw student and was Hermione’s age, having recently joined the College as an adjunct professor after obtaining his doctorate from Cambridge in Ethics and Morality. 

Present-day Hermione came back into focus, and she contemplated on the opinion she espoused in class that day. As this new beautiful period arrived into her life, she couldn’t help but wonder at the changing thoughts percolating in her mind. Perhaps a soul couldn’t enmesh with another completely, but perhaps the dance together, if the two people were suitably matched enough, could be so harmonious that one’s thoughts, dreams, movements and needs, could be ascertained and predicted effortlessly enough that one could quite simply be _understood._

*.*.*.*.*

As he walked into the park and down the path toward his flat, his thoughts started to drift to this strange change in his life he had noticed over the last few days. He had noticed a sweetness in the air, and an appreciation for the little beauties in the world: the smile on a passer-by, a bird chirping in a tree, the shades of indigo at twilight.

In all of his years of debauchery and brooding, Draco hadn’t paid much attention to the idea of a partner, of love, and felt little in the way of longing other than a longing for release from the depth of his guilt and shame at his role as a co-conspirator throughout the rise of Voldemort. He had spent years in a numbed stupor of dissociation, covering up his emotional pains in ways that seemed most available to him.

The pathway of hedonism seemed the most attainable and the easiest route forward in his years post-Hogwarts. With all of the money in the world at his disposal, and a willful turning away from anyone from his past, he found an open door beckoning him to a world of intoxication where he feet rarely had to be on the ground.

The first sip of firewhisky, the first inhalation of an opium mist, were his most ardent lovers, and he had been devoted to them for years. They showered him with a kind of warmth that he had never felt in childhood. It was a solitary place that seemed unfriendly to any kind of partnership, let alone much of a friendship. It was a frozen time, a place suitable only for him to journey into, alone.

Starting to work for the Ministry a few short years ago had meant bringing him back down to Earth, at least for the duration of the assignments. And over time, new thoughts started to show their face, whispers of longing for a connection to someone beyond a bender with whoever he found at a bar.

It was as if he had walked by a baker’s open window and caught the scent of a new intoxicating charm. The thought had indeed crossed his mind that perhaps he did unknowingly stumble into someone’s love charm, but he had the wherewithal to perform an analysis and found little indication that he had been the target. And besides, the effects had lasted longer than a charm might, and they were only increasing with each day.

As he walked past the entry gates to the park, his mind drifted to the memory of the day he was asked by the Ministry to take the Auror examinations to be of greater service to the wizarding and muggle worlds. Although that time period was still marred by heavy feelings of depression and guilt, he felt that he was able to appreciate it better now, and saw that it was a gift that enabled him to help pay off some of his debt to the right side of history.

The dark stone of regret within him had started to feel lighter over the recent years, and now in this pink and purple dusk light, he could see his past from a place of insight. Perhaps the heaviness wasn’t quite so heavy anymore. Him, Draco Malfoy, traitor, monster, haunted, felt as if the gods had offered him the chance of redemption. He hoped this soft numb feeling from his pub visit with Theo would continue pleasantly for several more hours. He wanted to be there, in heaven, with the gods of nature to thank them for this sweetness in the air and in his bones.

Deep down, in moments of insight, he felt as if he would be able to know love only if there was forgiveness and a relief from the guilt and shame that he thought he deserved. He felt that this was the time before him now, a new point on his journey. It had been a long time after all, that he had been carrying the weight of the past.

It felt like forever, most of his life, since he had believed the world to be only dark, unfeeling, unhelpful, cruel, and power-hungry. Since distancing himself from his parents and lineage, he had felt the distant possibility of redemption, that there might be a sliver of a chance that he could be deserving of love and happiness. He never let himself believe it but today felt different.

He thought these things as a soft breeze touched his face, a change from the chill he had first felt stepping outside of the tavern. Noticing the warm breeze, he focused his eyes on a woman ahead of him, whose long thick wavy brown hair and button nose filled his dreams at night, and he felt a shockwave of unfamiliar emotions hit him at the speed of a blazing comet.

*.*.*.*.*


	4. The Encounter

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Hermione walked along with her eyes half closed, deeply breathing into the night, her pace slowing to dreamily soak in the evening sounds and sights all around her, luxuriating in the promise of this new chapter.

When she opened them again she felt frozen in place, her blood cold, and she softly gasped. They stood a few feet from each other, staring, and surprised. It was the last face she had expected to see. 

“Hermione,” Draco offered first.

“H…hi,” she breathed, thinking how strange her first name sounded from his lips, among a myriad of other thoughts.

She took in his appearance. He was an... adult. A man. Grown with broad shoulders and chiseled features, a stark change from the snotty little boy she remembered, the childhood monster who taunted her. His eyes, a vivid grey, that contained multitudes. He was so much taller than she’d imagined, and an electric pulse shot through her momentarily.

“H… how are you?” he asked her dumbly, unsure what to say exactly as a flush came over his porcelain skin, the evening breeze gently swaying his messy blond locks.

“Good… uh, I’m… fine… thank you,” she muttered, wiping loose hair behind her ear, all sense of words and language being entirely insufficient to match the speed of questions and memories flashing through her mind’s eye.

At this moment, Draco knew that there was nothing left to do but what he had been craving for so long, for over a decade, over years of flashbacks and memories that caused him to curl up into himself, but he had never been courageous enough to write to her.

He took a deep breath and before she could say anything or walk away, he knelt before her on one knee, looking up into her light brown eyes, speaking softly but firmly, “Hermione. I’m so sorry.”

She inhaled sharply, confounded. What on earth was he doing?

“What?” she mumbled as she felt like the world spun around and upside down.

“I am so sorry, for that horrible time, for my role in it, for all the terrible things I did to you, your friends, for being so cruel to you throughout our years at school, I was a total sodding wank, a fucking tool. You didn’t deserve it, none of it, it was awful of me, I’m horrible, all of us stupidly believing the stupid fucking lies and hatred… you didn’t deserve any of that. It’s been keeping me up for, well, years. But I mean not being able to sleep at night is nothing compared to what you must have gone through, I’m sure. I carry that with me, I wish I could have stopped her, my Aunt, I keep dreaming about stopping her…” he glanced at her arm but it was covered with her jacket.

She noticed him look towards her arm but said nothing, standing speechless and slack-jawed. Her little world started to shatter as old thoughts came up, flashes of the Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix, _mudblood_ , the battle, and all the time and space that she had put between her and that dark time suddenly felt like nothing at all. Her breath shallowed and her shoulders tensed as the confounding memories and sudden encounter with Malfoy collided into one blinding confrontation.

Draco continued, so much more to say. “I don’t talk to my parents anymore, I don’t believe any of that stupid shit that they were told and that I believed, how could they have done that to a fucking child… and, and now I serve the Ministry and redeem myself and do good, I’m trying to do good, I’m trying… I know I’m so privileged and a waste of space, and, gods, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s not about me, gods, I’m sorry. Hermione, I just want to say, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And here you are suddenly, after all this time, and I just had to get it out, to tell you I regret being a total fucking asshole to you, and everyone. Almost everyone.”

He finished speaking, still kneeling in front of her, and she thought how very similar this grown man was to the little blonde boy she went to school with, who still spoke with a sharp tongue that pronunciated the _t's_ like he was spitting them out, a mile a minute. She looked at him on his knee, with the pink sky fading to a darker violet, his electric grey eyes staring up into her golden brown eyes, into her fine delicate face.

Ever the academic, she tried to analyze the situation with regard to her astrological predictions, trying to piece together what was going on as this horrible figure from her past suddenly was kneeling in front of her. Her mouth still ajar, her eyes darted from his eyes to his nose, mouth, hair, eyes, face, eyes, jaw, eyes, lips, hair, shoulders, hands, knee, eyes, lips, eyes, cheeks, eyes…

All she could hear now was the thudding of her heart with the anger coming to the surface that had been hidden deep in the depths of imprisoned memory. Anger at Ron, at Draco, his Aunt, at all the Death Eaters and especially at Voldemort, for the hatred and suffering their selfish beliefs and actions caused.

But her thoughts were interrupted by someone behind her.

_clap clap clap_

She looked around them to see a small assortment of passersby applauding them, gleefully smiling at them as they clapped and clapped, uttering little " _awwwes_ ". It took both Draco and Hermione a brief moment to figure out what was going on before they realized it looked very much like a marriage proposal.

Her mind fluttered briefly to her astrological schedule again and as she looked down at the silvery-blonde before her, a little puzzle piece offered itself to her as if to say, _maybe it’s this…_

“Oh gods no,” she said softly.

Draco smiled at the people around them, giving them a little wave, and then turned back to her. “Hermione, I’m sorry.”

“Um, ok, ok… please get up.” She felt flustered.

He stood, wiping the dirt off of his pant leg and fixing his black jacket in a way that reminded her of school days. She saw both the little Hogwarts brat and this matured adult man before her, both contained in the simple motion of straightening his posh jacket. 

“Um. Look, may I walk with you?” he asked her as the crowd dispersed, some voicing disappointment that there didn’t seem to be a happy post-engagement kiss.

Hermione thought of the years she stayed with Ron, hiding what she needed and wanted to please him. She was angry at Draco, not for his apologizing, but for the memories it brought up, for blindsiding her. She didn’t want to simply acquiesce to his request, he had been a bully, _her_ bully. This was a lot to take in. 

And yet, her lightning-speed mind also thought about her astrological schedule and she was intellectually open to the curious exploration of whether this man, her old school mate, had some connection to her analysis of her pleasant chapter. Surely this strange encounter meant _something_ … she had to pursue it but didn’t know where to begin.

“You have a lot to apologize for,” she said, as the little crowd gave up and walked away.

“I know,” he responded quickly, clinging to her engagement in the conversation, unsure where it would go.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if you can walk with me.”

“Oh, right.” He stood taller, drawing his shoulders back. “I completely understand. I’m sorry, this is all rather, ridiculous, or, that’s not the word… I just, yes, no I’m sorry Hermione, how fucking stupid of me.” He gave a little nod and sighed. “Ok, anyway, I do hope you’re well, I hope you and Ron, and Harry, Ginny, everyone, I hope that they are doing really, really well. If I can ever do anything to be of service to you or any of them, please, please allow me.” He presented her with a business card. Draco Malfoy had a business card.

She was thoroughly bewildered. This was Malfoy before her, horrible child, truly a meanie, a total brat, her nemesis, the one she used to want to _hurt. Badly._ He had been beyond mean, _evil_ she once thought. Yet here he was, propitiating before her, _respecting_ her boundary.

She had to admit, she was exceptionally curious.

In all the years since Hogwarts, her mind was more often than not focused on her life with Ron, whenever it was spent in bad thought. She wasn’t focused on the old school days, though she still had the scar on her arm to draw her memory back. She had the opportunity to remove the scar but chose not to, so that she would never truly forget the realities of that time, as a way to remember to stay on the right path, always. Besides, she could easily charm it away whenever she wanted to bare her arms in public.

Draco interrupted her thoughts. “I won’t keep you if you’d like to carry on, I’ll wish you a pleasant evening here. If you’d like to ever talk about any of that time, I can listen, I can hear it. You deserve to say it all and to be heard.”

Her eyes glazed over and stared into the horizon, and he knew that she was clearly thrown into deep thought. He took that moment, as she looked past him into the images flying by her mind’s eye, to study her appearance and how the years had changed her. She had been toothy at school, with wild massive hair. But now, well — he took in her tall forehead, her bright eyes, her fine nose, her tamed mane, and he tried not to glance at her figure. She looked, grown up. A woman.

The excitement and nervousness he felt surprised him. “It was… really, really good to run into you. I’m sorry for throwing all of that at you unexpectedly.”

She looked at him with a stern face, and he continued.

“Good night, Hermione, and um… well, yes, good night. Bye.”

Saddened by her silence, though understanding, he gave her a little bow as he kept her eye contact from his height advantage over her. He waited for another moment to see if she would react, and when she didn’t, he started to turn away.

“Wait,” she said, softly, so softly he would have missed it if he wasn’t paying her so much attention. He turned back to her with hope in his eyes. “Sorry, it’s not that I don’t want you to… I mean, it’s… oh gods I don’t know what I mean, there’s really no words for any of the things going on in my head Malfoy, you were a cruel brat, a tyrant, and your family, well… this is just so unexpected. I was in a lovely daydream and you just threw all of this on me, it’s not ok. None of what you've done is ok.”

“I know, you’re absolutely right, all of it, fuck, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, there’s really no words…”

He waited a breath before responding. “I know.” He down looked at her as she stared through him into space, clearly lost in the activities of her mind, flashbacks to Bellatrix, the horrors she had hidden away.

All these years, all the guilt and the shame, he couldn’t believe that she was here and he was finally saying what he had been feeling. But now he could see that it had created a weight on her that was causing her distress, and he felt like an eternal fool, fated to make wrong choices.

“May I, would it be at all possible,” he started, “to invite you for dinner, or to go sit somewhere, a café perhaps, or… or, this bench over here even? Just, to talk? And to listen.”

She looked over toward the bench, then off into the distance in her direction of home, and finally back up to his face. “Well, I do need to eat.”

Draco’s face lit up. “Thank you, Hermione, yes please let’s get you some food, anything you want, the finest five-course dinner.”

At that she nodded her head with the slightest of smiles, a reprieve, as both of their shoulders dropped from the release of stress from their initial encounter.

“Where would you like to go? My flat is just over here,” he offered, then changed course when she frowned. “No, of course, that’s too personal, anywhere you like then let’s go there.”

“I mean, I really should cook this chicken I have at home, it's going to go bad soon... and we're in such an expensive neighbourhood.”

“Hermione, please, I mean, I can afford to cover the cost of your dinner that’s really not a problem. Unless, of course, oh right, you have to get home for Ron I imagine.”

“No, no. Ron and I divorced a few years ago.”

There was a subtle but evident vibration in the space between them.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that, naturally. Bloody hell, you two were — ” she cut him off with a stern glance. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she spoke decidedly. “Right, Malfoy, fine. You can go and buy me a ridiculously expensive dinner then, that ought to be a start to making it up to me.”

“Agreed. Absolutely. Horribly expensive. Thousand pounds on dinner tonight, no less.”

She half smiled, bewildered by the thought of thousands of pounds, and they walked in the direction he had just come from, away from his house and toward the city centre.

The twilight descended into deeper shades of violet as the warm breeze followed them, and only them, into the night. 

*.*.*.*.*.*.*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos mean so much! xoxo


End file.
